


Just say yes

by Clevertyrant



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: I just thought this could happen sooner or later, M/M, don't lose time trying to find any indication of the contents in the tags because I'll leave none, ha, just read it, short one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 20:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13888695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clevertyrant/pseuds/Clevertyrant
Summary: Kiichi is starting to feel conscious of his future role as a Captain, however, there's still a problem between him and his goal: Kimishita.





	Just say yes

It was a particular chilly day, that kind of _chilly_ that seeped into the bone, it felt much like pointy tips of rusted steel under skin, according to the perspective of someone whose outstanding legs wore tensed and sore hamstrings as a sturdy chunk of concrete would emboss ammonites. Up and down. Vessels pumped blood, swelling with it at each number Usui’s velvet timbre chanted in the subtle haze; it was almost creepy how it enveloped his tall, walking figure like a cloak of enigmatic smoke.

However, Ooshiba’s gaze wasn’t trained on his current gaoler at that time, but was firmly levelled onto the _jailmate_ hands down on the grass right in front of him. One of the perks of doing neck stall push ups were admiring the glorious downfall of Kimishita when his trained, martial-like composure crumbled under the pressure of someone who was born with that features, unlike _him_.

“You’d want to hold your chin up.” Usui’s tender, raspy voice sounded to both his interlocutors like a scam. “Because should _one_ of the balls fall, you’ll have to redo everything from scratch. But you don’t need me to tell you.”

Correction: Usui was a scam in his entirety. The bastard!

The mention of the incriminated object precariously balanced between nape and shoulders made Kimishita overly conscious of it _again;_ forcing him to obey to the unspoken order as his head instantly shot up to the sky.

“Heard it, _Kimishita_?” But Kiichi, obviously didn’t miss a beat of his tart, irking tease, and didn’t miss the warning in his arch nemesis guttural growl, nor the acrimony bobbing his adam’s apple when he swallowed whatever nasty comment that tongue of his was holding on its tip.

He didn't miss more irrelevant things either, such as the tensing of his jaw or the veins protruding on the slanted neck, a single tear of sweat wetting the already moist skin and… Kiichi squeezed his his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. He bent on his elbows and lowered his chest down to the ground.

It had been a while since the strange sensation that something might be wrong with him had started to sprout like detestable weed amongst his thoughts.

And since it was unlikely that someone like him could be defective in any way, he'd attributed such uneasiness to a transient...sickness.

He had found himself often staring at the other boy in front of him for too long, and search for him when he happened to be out of his field of vision.

And while before the thought of Kimishita used to occupy the tiniest spot in the back of his mind, outside the pitch, now it seemed like it was a constant. A thumping noise that had suddenly switched from low to maddening. Where ‘maddening’ could be easily interchanged with ‘obsessive’.

Everything had gone downhill from the moment he stepped onto the field today. The strangling sensation of wanting to be watched, desiring to spot the barest hint of awe, pride and admiration had lead to a miserable series of blunders; like missing a slide tackle to Tsukamoto who instead had hooked the ball flawlessly. Or failing three nets one after another during the shooting drills.

He was fairly sure he had quenched that sort of thirst stemming from the distorted picture he used to have of himself a long time ago, even before the nationals. He'd learned how to cope with the fact that he, out of everyone, was the one that still had to learn the most in order to lead a squad.

Where had such new found ‘humility’ gone?

Just a few months were left before the end of the school year and he was still _unsuitable_ for the captaincy.

Or was he?

What did _Kimishita_ think of all of that?

What did he think of him? Would he want to side him… become his vice captain?

Even if they didn't get along one bit?

Even if once again, today, like every other day words had turned into sharp daggers and punches had burned skin, made it bleed resulting in the umpteenth useless punishment?

Would he still accept him even though they know no other form of communication besides quarreling?

A ball rolled onto the ground but no gaze followed its path.

Both Kimishita and Usui were transfixed on Kiichi, who had simply stood up.

“I’ve got no time for this.” He proclaimed just that, the coolness in his voice and gaze sounded and looked almost foreign while he turned sharply on the ball of his foot and marched away without giving a shred of justification.

Kimishita sprung from his position, dropping the ball in turn. “Where do you think you’re go—”

“Let him go.” Usui outstretched his hand in a straight line just in front of the irascible teammate, who turned in his direction affronted and incredulous for a fraction.

The enigmatic smile playing on Usui’s lips was enough to make him give up.

Kimishita dropped on one knee, retrieving the ball.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

* * *

 

It was a particular chilly day, that kind of _chilly_ that seeped into the bone, it felt much like pointy tips of rusted steel under skin, according to the perspective of someone whose outstretched arm wore tensed and sore biceps as a sturdy chunk of concrete would emboss ammonites.

A pair of sharp, mistrusting circles of lead eyed the limb like a wild animal would look at a feeding hand.

“What’s this?” Kimishita’s voice still held his wonted biting edge, but also a tiny, imperceptible hint of curiosity.

Kiichi, on his part, continued to look at him poker-faced and perhaps for the first time in ages, impossible to decipher.

“A hand. _My hand_. Take it.”  

“Why?” The progressive narrowing of eyes and the further inaction, compelled Ooshiba to bend forward and forcibly clasp the other palm, strangling the fingers of the latter in his bigger one.

On another occasion, Kimishita would’ve certainly thrown acid tantrums, this time, though, he merely stared at the other teen, at his hand in his, and again at Kiichi.

“Let me rephrase the sentence in a way even you can understand: what is the meaning _behind_ this?”

It didn’t happen every day, after all, that Kiichi would wait specifically for him at the front school gate. He was evidently freezing his ass off, thus it meant he’d been there for a long time. Not to mention it was barely seven and in no way one like him would wake up at unholy hours just for a handshake, right? Moreover, _with him_! Had he finally turned mad?

“Will you…” Kiichi’s voice trailed off, finally revealing his true colors. His face twisted in a grimace and it became evident that he was struggling to keep his gaze focused on Kimishita.

“Will you be…”

“What?”

“It’s not easy, gimme time okay?!”

Really, what the heck was going on?

“Within the day, school is about to start.” The dull, totally unaffected comment made Kiichi wince once, however he didn’t withdraw nor lost his hard worked composure.

“My vice Captain?”

He finally breathed out.

Kimishita blinked once. Then twice. And as he was about to say something, Kiichi cut him off, scrambling into the silence.

“I thought that _maybe_ it’d be better if we tried to at least do this once since in a few months I’ll take Mizuki’s place. I can’t have a rebel in my crew.”

“And you thought that a handshake would be enough to obliterate any hostility between us.” Kimishita ventured, unusually collected; neither ruffled nor sarcastic, and on top of that, regarding the other with analytical… interest?

“No. But it could be a start. You don’t wanna?” It was ironic, Kimishita thought, that despite the rigid temperature Kiichi could be able to sweat that much.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“It’s not a thing that’s for me to decide. You know how it works.”

“But you want?!” Did Kiichi know that he practically shouted that?

“If Mizuki will be out of his mind enough to elect you as his successor,” something he already knew for sure was very likely to happen, “and if I get appointed…”

“For fuck’s sake, Kimishita! I asked you if _you want_ to be my vice captain! You means **you** , not **_others_**.”

As if his personal wishes did matter. If he wasn’t deemed cut out for that role by Usui, Nakazawa and Mizuki… what was the point of saying or not saying that?

He returned his gaze on the handshake. It must have took him a lot to come up with it, they were both too prideful and most of the times… immature, but look at that guy; he managed to reach such conclusion all by himself, thinking that it would be the best for the team.

If their joining forces would be of any use for that purpose… then…

“If I become your vice captain, will you bring us victory; no matter what? Because _that_ is what I want the most.”

The redhead's lips twisted in one of his customary, almighty smirks. “I will be better than Mizuki, so that's  _foregone._ ”

Kimishita’s mouth curled up, just slightly, in what seemed the ugly imitation of a smile.

“I want, then.”

His grip on the offered hand tightened.

At the same time, something pinched at Kiichi’s heartstrings.

Whatever it was… this time felt right.


End file.
